


pay the price and not take your advice

by pessimisticprose



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, At one point, Curses, Derek and Stiles are Mates, Fluff and Angst, Jealous Derek, Love Confessions, M/M, Several Magical OCs, Spark Stiles Stilinski, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-07 23:39:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1918497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pessimisticprose/pseuds/pessimisticprose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Derek was cursed and Stiles lifted it and one time Stiles was cursed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	pay the price and not take your advice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dani_Schomer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dani_Schomer/gifts).



> Title is from the Bob Dylan song called 'Seven Curses'. And even though it's 5+1, there actually are seven curses. Which I added in just for the song. 
> 
> I posted this because after that ep tonight, we all needed something fluffy.

1

 

The first time Derek’s cursed, he doesn’t even know what curse they put on him. There are four Ellerwomen living in the preserve in an abandoned hunting cabin that has been falling away since before Derek was born. It took Stiles over a week to figure out how to kill one–“Just like a regular fairy, Derek. Jesus Christ, am I the only one that can read in this pack?”–and by the end of the week Derek pushed him into his bed and told him to sleep it off because he looked awful and Derek didn’t need him collapsing.

That’s how Derek ends up fighting off four Ellerwomen without Stiles’ helpful knowledge on the scene. The rest of the pack is beside Derek, ready to fight. But Stiles is their portable bestiary, a walking talking book full of endless knowledge.

Scott makes sure everyone has earplugs before they go in the cabin. According to Stiles, the Ellerwomen have invisible musicians that play music and once someone starts dancing, they don’t ever stop.

They’ve killed three of the Ellerwomen when the last one roars a fierce roar and chants something in another language.

Derek’s thought before he blacks out is that he wishes Stiles was here to understand her.

 

***

 

He wakes up to Deaton hovering over him. Derek sits up immediately. He feels fine, no pain or abnormal sensations. He’s completely recovered. He doesn’t even know what happened.

“You were cursed,” Deaton explains. “They called Stiles and had him remove the curse.” Derek takes a second to think about why Deaton didn’t remove it, but that’s when Derek hears the familiar rumble of the Jeep outside. He’s slipping if he didn’t hear the deathtrap outside until now, engine on but not moving. He’s off of the table in a flash and heading outside when he sees Stiles sitting on the pavement and leaning against the Jeep’s back tire with Scott and Isaac talking him down from a panic attack. Derek can smell how exhausted and scared Stiles is.

Scott looks over and shakes his head. Derek goes back inside.

 

2

 

“It’s a pixie,” Stiles says like it’s the easiest thing in the world. He spins in his chair a few times before looking back at Derek. “They’re like little humans. Salt is a repellent and dipping their wings in honey slows them down.”

“How do you kill one?” Derek asks gruffly.

“Can’t figure that out, yet.” Derek rolls his eyes at Stiles and vanishes out the window.

 

***

 

They’re in the middle of a fierce battle, everyone taking Stiles’ advice and using bats to swat the malevolent creatures away. Turns out, they don’t have wings. Instead, they catch rides on the back of fucking crows. Derek seriously thought Stiles was going to die.

“Everything except the old Celtic folklore says they have wings! Oh my fucking god! I’m going to kill someone!” He ducks as a crow-and-pixie combination swoops down to peck his eyes out, except the pixie, barely more than a speck of light to Derek’s eyes it’s moving so fast, jumps off of the crow and blows some kind of powder in his face. Derek coughs for a few seconds before he feels the dozens of pixies all over his body, scratching and biting him. There’s actually a pool of blood below him, and he feels dizzier and weaker than ever before.

And the enemy isn’t even a foot tall.

He passes out after that.

 

***

 

He comes to with Stiles and Scott above him. He feels the familiar material of his Toyota seats below him.

“I better not be bleeding out on these fucking seats,” he snarls, but there’s no real heat behind it.

“I know how to get blood out of car seats,” Stiles says idly. He has a book in his hands and he’s pale, now that Derek’s starting to focus more on his surroundings. Isaac is driving, quickly but he doesn’t feel the car revving so high it’s unsafe. They must not be in a hurry to get him to Deaton, so he knows he’s fine.

“How do you feel?” Scott asks. He’s cramped in behind Isaac’s seat and Stiles is the one closer to his head. How does he feel? Hungry, for starters. He’s cold, too. He’s shirtless, which, what the fuck? But he’s not in pain, and that’s what they’re asking about.

“I’m fine. No pain,” Derek grunts. He tries to sit up, but Stiles puts a hand on his chest.

“You need to relax and stop pushing yourself!” Stiles says sternly. Derek levels him with a glare and pointedly looks at the hand on his chest. Stiles grimaces and pulls it away. “Not touching you. But dude, you got hit with a death curse. You _almost died_.” With Stiles so close, he can see the sweat on his forehead from some kind of exertion. He can see how he’s shaking with exhaustion and stress and worry. He must not be sleeping well.

“Well I didn’t. So I’m fine.” He doesn’t sit up, but he does lean against the inside of the car, breathing deeply for a few seconds. He pulls his legs up so Scott can have a bit more room. While the backseat is larger in the Toyota than the Camaro, there definitely isn’t space for three people in the backseat if one is laying down. Scott sends him a grateful look, but climbs over the console instead of accepting his offer. Stiles stays right beside him instead of moving.

“You’re not fine!” Stiles shrieks. He flails a little and almost hits Derek in the face with his book. Fondness swells in Derek’s chest.

“Stiles,” Derek says. “Shut up.”

 

3

 

The third time he’s cursed, he almost dies again.

It’s witches this time. An entire coven of witches has invaded Beacon Hills. At first, Derek thought they were peaceful, because he saw a trio of them in a Starbucks, laughing about something, but he’s quickly proved wrong.

“Give us Lydia and Stiles, and we’ll leave,” the head witch says. She looks regal, with a long golden cloak on one shoulder and a ruby red dress flowing all the way to the dirty forrest floor of the preserve.

While the witches don’t look that tired, most of the wolves are bleeding and haggard, healing slowly because of the magic. Magic and werewolves don’t mix. Finally the fighting came to a stalemate and they ended up in this ridiculous and overly-cinematic standoff.

“They’re not witches,” Scott snarls. Stiles and Lydia, the presumed witches, are standing behind the line of wolves. Stiles has a belt filled with jars of various powders and herbs, all designed to be used with his spark. (At first, Derek made a joke that he may as well get a fanny pack, but when Stiles single-handedly saved the pack from dying because he had powdered garlic in there for vampires, which did end up attacking Beacon Hills. He didn’t tease him again.) Lydia is just standing there with her arms crossed and a cool look of disdain on her features.

“A spark is only one step down from a witch, you heathen,” she snaps. Scott bares his teeth at her insult. He’s always a very gentle Alpha, but whenever Stiles is threatened, he loses it a little. Derek doesn’t blame him. He gets a little foggy when he’s fighting someone hostile towards Stiles, too. “And a banshee, so many hidden talents she doesn’t know about. We could help you, Lydia.”

“Thanks,” Lydia says. “But I’m not interested.”

The witch sighs and rolls her eyes. “I can hear your lie, honey.”

“I may be interested, but I’m not abandoning my friends!” Lydia says, heat behind her voice.

The witch rolls her eyes again. “Teenagers. You only see things in black and white.” She snaps her fingers and Stiles is suddenly beside her. Before anyone can protest, she pulls a knife out of the holster resting across her hip and Scott and Derek both snarl at the sudden movement. She presses it right where his pulse is strongest. “Back off,” she commands. When none of the wolves move, she presses it deeper and Derek can smell a faint trace of Stiles’ blood. He sees red, the urge to protect thrumming just below the surface. “I said, back off.”

Scott scowls and does as he’s told, shifting back to his human form. Derek growls deep in his chest as he shifts back. Stiles has his hands on her forearm, ready to rip her off. Derek sees the veins in his arms bulge with the strain of trying to pull her away, but she doesn’t move.

“How emasculating,” he mumbles more to himself than anyone else, but they all hear it.

“So here’s how this is going to work. I’m going to hold your spark overnight. If Lydia comes to us before nightfall tomorrow, we’ll leave peacefully. If not, you’ll see his blood before you die.”

“I’ll go!” Lydia says, pushing past Scott and Jackson. Jackson, freshly back from London, grabs her arm, but she shrugs him off. Lydia steps through the twenty foot space and the witch smiles. She loosens her grip on Stiles imperceptibly and then Stiles’ hand is in his belt and there’s powder in the air. She screams as the powder touches her, poisonous to her skin. Lydia tries to pull Stiles back as the wolves spring, but he throws the glass jar and it sends the powder into the rest of the coven.

Derek goes for the head witch. When his claws slash her throat, he’s thrown back with a powerful force. He hears Stiles yell his name and then he’s floating.

 

***

 

He wakes to see Scott above him, but no Stiles this time. He feels sore, all the way up his spine. He hasn’t felt like this since Kali drove a stake through his chest. There’s the familiar light above Deaton’s operating table pounding down on his face.

“He’s awake!” Scott calls.

Deaton is there the next second, and there’s another light shining in his eyes, only this one is more concentrated. “He’s alright. Just a little discombobulated.”

“What happened?”

“You were cursed. The witch’s curse was meant to take the immune system away and then curse the person with sickness, however, since you’re a wolf, it lowered your immune system to that of a regular human and the sickness didn’t affect you. Although, you were pretty beaten up when you got here, and not healing, because of the curse. Stiles lifted it and now you’re healed.” Deaton’s voice is comforting in the too-bright setting of the room. Derek sits up and Scott and Deaton both lay a hand on either bicep, steadying him.

“I’m fine,” he rasps. “Where’s Stiles?” He needs to know he’s alright, that the witch didn’t hurt him.

“He passed out. Lydia drove him home about ten minutes ago.”

“He needs to start sleeping more,” Derek says groggily, without thinking. He hears Deaton snort in derision and he rubs his head. “Can I go?”

“Only if Scott drives you home,” Deaton says. “You should be fine.”

Scott drives him home.

 

4

 

“It’s just one witch, looking for revenge because you killed her sister,” Stiles answers without looking up from the bestiary. Derek can see the beaten down lines of his shoulders, can see how he’s about to fall asleep right on Derek’s kitchen island. He can also see the pale red line along Stiles’ throat where the witch’s blade sliced him and he doesn’t like that at all.

He pushes another mug of coffee towards Stiles, at the teen’s own instance to keep working, and says, “Maybe you should get some sleep.”

“I’m fine. It’s finals week soon, might I add. I’m used to not sleeping anyway. C’mon, let’s figure out how to kill her.”

“Can’t you use your powder and then I’ll slash her throat?” It worked last time.

“She’ll be expecting it, Derek.” They work for three more hours before Derek has to carry Stiles to his couch to let him get some sleep. He looks gaunt and half-dead in Derek’s arms, and Derek wonders when that happened. He feels so empathetic for the boy in his arms in that moment. He’s always been energetic, vibrant and bouncing with life. He’s in the middle of wondering why he’s so tired when Stiles’ phone goes off in his pocket. Derek swears as Stiles sits bolt upright and pulls the phone to his ear automatically.

“Scott. What’s up?” Derek can hear the faint sound of battle through the speaker on Stiles’ phone and he tenses, thoughts going a million different places.

“Where? Okay, be there soon.” Stiles hangs up and stands, rubbing his eyes. It’s hopelessly endearing. “Let’s go, grump. We have a witch to kill.”

 

***

 

The battle’s raging when he hears the screech of pain and all five of the witch’s clones disappear. The witch has a blade in her back and Stiles is on the other end of it. Scott calls out a warning as the witch’s magic bursts from her body. The stream of red light hits Derek directly in the face, knocking him right off of his feet. He doesn’t black out this time, thankfully.

He hears Kira call for Stiles and Stiles quietly sighs. “On it.” Derek can’t see anything, it’s all dark around him.

“What’s going on?” he snarls. Isaac is beside him then, laying a gentle hand on his arm.

“Calm down. Stiles is going to lift the curse. Can you see anything?”

“No,” Derek grinds out. He digs his claws into the ground, wolf howling inside of him. He can hear everyone milling around, but it’s jarring to have a sense displaced so quickly. He hates this feeling of helplessness.

“Hey,” Stiles says, suddenly right in front of him. Derek breathes deeply, trying to discern his position, and he’s smacked with Stiles’ unique scent that always seems to calm him. He stops squirming so much. “I’m going to remove the curse. I never did this while you were conscious, so I’m not sure if it’s going to hurt or not. You ready?”

“Just do it!” Derek growls. He can’t stand having his sight gone for another minute.

He hears Stiles start to softly chant in Latin, and then he feels ease wash over him. He feels his eyes tingling and it unnerves him. His vision is gradually coming back now and he can kind of focus on the Stiles blob crouching in front of him, too far and too close all at once. Derek’s claws slowly retract back into his fingers when he sees Stiles’ outline. With every word, his vision clears more and more.

He watches Stiles read for a few seconds, before Stiles closes the book and looks at Derek. He murmurs one more phrase and Derek feels the tingling in his eyes abruptly stop and a red haze lifts from his vision, a haze he hadn’t even noticed.

Stiles offers him a smile before he sways. Derek reaches out to steady him and Scott pulls him up. Derek stays on the ground for a few moments before getting up as well. Stiles looks like he’s about to topple over any second now, exhausted from the battle and finals. Scott keeps his arm around his waist to steady him and Derek wants to rip the arm away. He wants to be the one helping his mate–

Well. That’s new.

Stiles whimpers and Scott leads a bleary and barely coherent Stiles to the passenger side of his Jeep. He looks back at the pack. “I’m going to take him home.”

 

5

 

He’s cursed by a Necromancer next. His name is A’zam, and at first he comes with glad tidings. He brings the pack gift baskets and replenishes every powder in Stiles’ belt. Stiles still looks exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes and he shakes a little when he lifts things, but other than that, he’s himself again. Derek has been keeping himself as far away as possible, ever since he realized Stiles was his _mate_.

A’zam dotes on Stiles. He kisses Stiles’ cheek and is always a gentleman to him. He spends time with Stiles alone–which kills Derek, but only makes everyone else suspicious–and every time Derek sees Stiles he looks more and more fatigued.

Eventually he finds out that A’zam is sucking away his energy, but only after he quietly tells Isaac he thinks they’re sleeping together.

“Are you insane? Or are you just blind?” Isaac sneers.

“Why else would he be so tired?”

“I swear to God, Derek. Stop.” Isaac rolls his eyes and storms off to find Scott or Allison. Derek’s eyes track the motion and he sighs.

That night, A’zam finally curses Derek.

“Finally,” he grumbles as he lays the curse over a bound-with-wolfsbane Derek. Derek’s writhing on his back, pain nearly blinding him. His vision is swimming and he has to hold back his screams. “That little shit is probably so empty he won’t be able to lift this bad boy.” He laughs the classic evil villain laugh and then disappears in a flash. Derek howls and within ten minutes, half the pack is there. Half the pack, but not Stiles.

“Are you cursed _again_?” Scott asks, exasperated. “Fine. Let me go wake up Stiles. A’zam has been syphoning energy out of him for a week. He can barely stand.” Scott’s gone then, too.

The pain steadily increases as he waits. Kira and Lydia are trying to talk him down, cooing softly into his ear about Stiles being here shortly. He ends up spitting out the word ‘mate’ once or twice, and when he briefly opens his eyes to look at Lydia, she looks beyond pleased.

Stiles finally arrives in only a pair of grey and black boxers and his red hoodie. He’s yawning and stumbling a little, but he has the book and Derek isn’t sure whether he wants to comfort Stiles and make him go to bed or if he wants this curse gone first. He’s not sure he can move with all of the writhing he’s doing, so he settles on waiting it out.

He hears the familiar words and feels the curse being gradually lifted. The pain is lessening with every word. Finally, he’s down to a dull ache right at the base of his spine before Stiles murmurs the final phrase. He feels the curse lift and then he opens his eyes. He’s about to say something to Stiles, to thank him, but Stiles’ eyes roll back into his head and he passes out before Derek can say anything. Derek bursts forward to catch him and Stiles is unmoving against him.

Scott steps forward to take Stiles from Derek’s arms, but Derek’s eyes flash before he can stop himself and Scott freezes in his tracks. He looks stunned, like he knows when this means, before his lips curl into an uncharacteristic snarl. “Let him go,” Scott says.

“No,” Derek replies. And they all know what this means, Derek being able to defy the Alpha when it comes to Stiles. At least, the wolves all know. Lydia and Allison probably know, but Kira looks confused and kind of worried.

“Derek, I’m not going to take him away from you. I’m going to lay him on the couch,” Scott says soothingly. He gently pulls Stiles from Derek’s still-throbbing arms and deposits the unconscious boy on the couch. He turns back to Derek. “How long have you known?”

“Since the witch came for revenge,” Derek says through gritted teeth. He does _not_ want to have this conversation. Not with Stiles passed out on the couch because of him. Not with Scott looking so exasperated with him.

“So almost two weeks,” Lydia fills in. “Does Stiles know?”

“No,” Derek says. “Definitely not. And we’re keeping it that way.”

“Derek–”

“We’re keeping it that way.” He jumps down from the table that Isaac lifted him onto before the curse was lifted and stalks out of them room and away from everyone. He rips off his shirt and shifts before running into the forrest.

 

+1

 

They’re back to square one after that. Derek avoids Stiles and Stiles doesn’t seek Derek out unless absolutely necessary. A few times, they’ve texted back and forth, when Derek reminded Stiles to go to sleep and Stiles fought with him about finals which were in two days. To which Derek threatened him and Stiles told him to bite him–which admittedly, made Derek’s dick twitch–but when he ran by as he ran a perimeter that night, Stiles’ lights were on and he could hear the soft click of keys and him on a Skype call with Lydia. It makes his chest ache that Stiles is stringing himself out like this.

He’s with Kira when he gets the call only a few hours after he runs perimeter.

“Stiles is cursed,” Lydia says in between breaths. “We were checking out a book over Skype and when he opened it a burst of magic came out and he collapsed.” She sounds like she just ran a mile. His stomach plummets somewhere in the general area of the floor and he feels his pulse amp up. Stiles is hurt. _Mate_ is hurt. Both his human and his wolf sides are worried.

“Where are you?”

“Deaton’s. Bring Stiles’ book. It’s probably on his desk somewhere.” Derek remembers the book from his pain curse. It’s dark blue with faded pages, but an impeccable binding. He leaves the loft and immediately goes in search of the book. He ends up going through Stiles’ entire desk before he finds something interesting.

Printouts on mates. He feels his wolf howling below the surface, proud that he was able to figure it out himself. There’s an access date on the top, the date when he printed it, and it’s over three years old, from when Stiles was sixteen and still in high school, not a college student with ambition and about to finish his sophomore year. Derek’s teeth grow into fangs as he loses more and more control with every second.

He phone rings, effectively snapping him out of his daze. When he sees the text, it’s Lydia, urging him to get there quickly. He leaves the printouts on Stiles’ laptop and begins searching with more vigor. Eventually he finds the book on the bookshelf, where books _should_  be, and he leaves through Stiles’ window.

When he finally gets to the animal clinic, Lydia is pacing outside. She snatches the book out of his hands and then leads him to Stiles. She’s flipping through the book when he catches sight of him.

He’s as white as a sheet, laying on the silver operating table with Scott by his side. Stiles feels scared, panic rising in his chest steadily, but he doesn’t move, and Derek doesn’t know what’s happening to him.

“He’s under a sleeping curse,” Deaton says, appearing out of thin air. “You need to lift it.”

“ _I_ do?” Derek asks, eyebrows at his hairline. “I can’t read Latin. Why can’t Lydia do it?”

“You’re the only one that can, idiot. Now do it!” Lydia pushes him towards Stiles and presses the book to him with the correct page staring him in the face. He looks at her calmly and she sighs. “It takes certain emotions to lift a curse.” When he doesn’t show recognition she practically screams, “Love! There has to be love involved to remove a curse. Why do you think I never took a curse off of you? I’m not in love with you. It also takes a _lot_ of energy to remove one. That’s why Stiles was always so tired. You’re a magnet for curses, Derek Hale.”

Love. It takes love to remove a curse? Derek seriously needs to take a five week vacation, because Stiles–fun, infuriatingly smart, creative, gorgeous Stiles–can’t be in love with him. It’s not possible. Derek’s broken. He threatens Stiles at every turn. He doesn’t appreciate half the things he does for him.

Maybe he can start.

He thinks back to how Stiles got progressively more and more tired and how he was more and more worried with each passing day. He always thought it was sleep deprivation, finals, or even just stress keeping him fatigued. Instead, it was Derek. Derek owes him this.

“Fine,” he says. He doesn’t realize that he’s admitting his feelings until too late. He feels the panic in Stiles decrease slightly and he knows Stiles can hear what they’re saying, he’s just trapped in a coma.

Derek looks at the words and tries to sound them out as best as he can. They’re unfamiliar and more than a little awkward, but he manages to make Stiles’ body twitch, so he takes it as confirmation that it’s working and he keeps going. He sees Stiles’ hand clench and then unclench and he reads the last few lines, encouraged. When he gets to the last phrase, the phrase that always pulled him out of his stupors, he says it confidently and then Stiles’ eyes snap open.

Stiles sits up too quickly and there’s the panic attack that had been building. Derek kind of expected it, but he didn’t expect the wave of tiredness to wash over him. He needs about a pot of coffee. Stiles is sitting on the operating table with Scott and Lydia talking him down from the panic attack. After a few seconds of the world spinning with Derek’s sudden fatigue, he steps between them and pretty much pushes past them to get to Stiles. Derek steps into the V of Stiles’ legs. His heartbeat is quick, too quick for Derek’s liking.

“Hey,” Derek says softly. “We’re all here, nothing’s going to hurt you. No one’s going to hurt you. You’re safe. I promise.” Derek’s words make Stiles whine and he buries his face in Derek’s shoulder, hands fisting in his shirt and pulling him impossibly closer. Derek feels more than sees Scott and Lydia back away from them. Scott’s still hovering close to the operating table though, to keep a close eye on his best friend.

Derek lets Stiles shake against him, feels his his tears on his shoulder and smells the salt cut through the air. He runs his hand along Stiles’ spine, up and down in what he hopes is a soothing rhythm, and keeps murmuring over and over that he’s here, nothing bad is going to happen.

Eventually, after what feels like decades, Stiles’ panic breaks, kind of like a fever. Derek can feel his shaking start to slow and he can smell other emotions starting to come in to play, undertones compared to the panic that has been drowning Stiles for the past few minutes. Derek can smell the shame and guilt manifesting, so he clenches his fist into the back of Stiles’ shirt, trying to keep the inaccurate emotions from brewing in his mind.

Stiles clings closer for a moment before he sags against Derek and just rests against his chest, eyes closed and breathing deeply. Derek looks for Scott, but he, Deaton, and Lydia are all gone. Derek didn’t even notice when they left; he’s too wrapped up in making sure Stiles is alright.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles finally gasps out, into the fabric of Derek’s shirt. Derek wants nothing more than to just hold him for an hour after what just happened, but Stiles is already pulling away. Derek makes the mistake of instinctually pulling him back into his arms, this time with Derek’s face in Stiles’ throat.

“Derek?” Stiles says tentatively. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Derek says, completely stunned. “You’re the one that just had a panic attack. Are _you_ okay?”

Stiles’ voice is hoarse when he says, “Yeah. I’m fine. I’m exhausted and about to fall over and I’m still shaky, but I’m fine. I just need a good thirty hours of sleep.” Stiles’ voice is light when he teases Derek, but Derek merely frowns in return. Stiles catches the frown and pokes his cheek. “Don’t.”

“Stiles,” Derek says, with so much emotion in his voice even he’s surprised by it. Stiles looks blindsided, completely stunned by Derek. Derek’s not really sure what to do, so he just places a soft open-mouthed kiss to Stiles’ neck.

His breathing hitches, but there’s not a trace of panic. No, he smells fond, confused, happy, in love–

He smells _in love_.

“You never said anything,” Derek says accusingly. He pulls away from Stiles’ neck and moves his arms so they’re encircling Stiles’ slim hips. Stiles shifts too, so his long arms are around Derek’s neck. When he looks at his face, Stiles looks vulnerable and beyond exposed. His eyes are an open book and his face has always been that way. Derek’s kind of mad at himself he never noticed.

“About love being needed to lift a curse?” Stiles snorts. “Derek, you’re the biggest martyr in the pack. I never thought you’d find out, since _you’d_ always be the one getting cursed.”

His arms tighten around Stiles’ waist and Stiles bites his lip. Derek almost growls before he says, “About being in love with me.” Stiles’ head immediately falls, like he doesn’t dare to meet Derek’s eyes and it’s such a painful sight to see the usually brash teen so vulnerable. Derek moves an arm and pushes Stiles’ chin up until they’re making eye contact again. “Hey, no more of that.”

“I never told you because I figured it didn’t matter. You never– I always thought you hated me. Then I found some stuff about mates online, but none of the signs were accurate and I tortured myself with that for months.”

Derek rolls his eyes at him. “Contrary to what you believe, not everything on the internet is true. Pixies having wings, for example.”

“Don’t bring that up. I’m still bitter.” It takes Stiles a second, and then his gaze whips to Derek’s, eyes wide and heartbeat skyrocketing even more. “Wait. You mean–”

“ _Yes_ , I mean,” Derek says, breathless. Stiles grins at him, all cheesy and happy. This isn’t how Derek expected this talk would go, but he’s so glad it worked out like this instead of how he’d been expecting it to. When Stiles tugs him down and lines their mouths up so they meet at the perfect angle, Derek forgets all about expectations.

Because Stiles? He blows those all out of the water.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr name is pessimisticprose
> 
> Join me and on Monday nights we'll cry together over Stalia


End file.
